


Proper Procedure (Some Would Call It Overkill)

by missingnolovefic



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Detective Miles Luna, F/M, Fake AH Crew, Fake Character Death, Implied Mariticide, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Multi, POV Outsider, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 11:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12630093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingnolovefic/pseuds/missingnolovefic
Summary: The King Is Dead, Long Live The Queen!Detective Luna takes it upon himself to inform Mrs Pattillo of her husband's sudden death. But was it really an accident?





	Proper Procedure (Some Would Call It Overkill)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kayssna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayssna/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Kays! I hope you enjoy this little story :D
> 
> For anyone worried about the tags, everything tagged _implied_ is tagged because Miles makes a lot of assumptions, none of which are true. The themes are tagged just to be safe. If you're still worried, feel free to contact me on my [tumblr](http://miss-ingno.tumblr.com/) for clarification :)

Miles double-checked his phone, making sure he was at the right address.

He was out on what would once have been considered a suicide mission, and he’s still not quite sure who he pissed of, but here he was, standing in front of the elevator bay. The receptionist had waved him through once he’d shown her his badge, watching him sharply as she phoned ahead. It’s not like he had a warrant or… any paperwork, really. The entire department was a disorganized mess, celebrating the downfall of one of the Most Wanted criminals in the history of Los Santos. It was easy for proper procedure to be swept under the carpet in the face of such euphoria. Unless he made sure it didn’t.

Miles straightened. Here he was, just down the block from the FIB headquarters and wasn’t that a kick to the teeth. Ramsey knew they couldn’t pin a thing on him, not even a speeding ticket to his name, and he flaunted that knowledge by making himself at home right down the street.

Well, had. Miles swallowed, fidgeting under the receptionist’s heavy gaze.

This was the part of the job he liked least. Delivering that final message, no matter if Ramsey was a suspected crime lord. At one point he loved his wife, enough to marry her. And maybe it was cheesy, but Miles had to believe that meant something. Love was an emotion that made them all human. He clung to that idea with desperation, warding off the darkness of the corrupt city with what many would call naïvety, but he called optimism.

The elevator doors opened with a ding, and Miles stepped in nervously. They closed behind him before he could figure out what button to press. Miles flinched. A symbol above the double row of buttons blinked on, a mellow yellow P for penthouse. Miles didn’t have much time to wonder about that, though, because the elevator already rose up and then stopped with a ding. There was a barely perceptible pause, then the doors slid open.

An older woman greeted him, maybe in her late thirties or early forties. She was wearing a flower-pattern silk robe, tied tightly at the waist. Fire-red hair curled freely around her head, framing her hazel eyes, a warm brown with just a hint of green. A fine scar bisected her left eyebrow, barely noticeable.

“Mrs Pattillo?” Miles asked, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

“Yes?” Pattillo tilted her head, something sharp to her gaze. “What can I do for you, Officer?”

“Detective, actually,” Miles said, glancing behind her. Most of what he could see was a wall with a huge landscape painting, hallways leading further into the penthouse on either side. Miles shook himself and offered Pattillo his hand. “Detective Luna, Ma’am. I’m afraid I’m here on business- may I come in?”

Pattillo eyed him with thinly veiled amusement, crossing her arms under her breasts and leaning in the open elevator doors. Miles dropped his hand, feeling vaguely embarrassed.

“My husband’s not home, _Detective_ ,” she drawled, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “And I doubt you would find anything else of interest. If that’s all?”

“I uh, I realize Mr. Ramsey isn’t here, Ma’am,” Miles replied, twisting his fingers. This was always the worst part, and he wasn’t quite sure how to break the news to her gently. “I was hoping to speak with you?”

Her stern features softened somewhat.

“I’m not talking, Detective,” she said gently, reaching out to grasp his shoulder with delicate fingers. French manicure, Miles noted absently. “Whatever allegations or accusations you have, trust me, I’ve heard them all. It’s not my place to speak.”

There’s a bruise on her wrist, peaking out from under the silken sleeve of her robe. It was faded and yellow, but Miles could make out the shape of fingers. His mind started racing. He’d been on a lot of domestic disturbance cases before his recent promotion and-

Then her words registered.

“That’s not- I mean-” he spluttered, eyes widening. He cleared his throat. “Ma’am, I’m afraid I have bad news for you. There was an… accident. Last night. I’m sorry, Mrs Pattillo, but your husband is not returning home.”

Pattillo’s eyebrow rose steadily as he spoke, stumbling over his words.

“An accident?” she inquired mildly, unfazed, her hand dropping off his shoulder. Miles licked his lips nervously, but in for a penny…

“A car accident,” he explained, softening his voice as if that would soften the impact. “We found... well, bottles of liquor, amongst other things, so we’re assuming it was a DUI, but the gas tank exploded upon impact and-”

Miles stopped, taking a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but we need you to come down to the morgue and identify the body.”

Pattillo eyed him sharply. Not quite disbelief or shock, but… something calculating.

“You’re sure it’s him?” she demanded, watching him intently. Miles shifted his weight, feeling rather uncomfortable under her gaze.

“Yes, Ma’am. At this point it’s just a formality, but…” he trailed off, grimacing. Pattillo stared at him, face a blank mask, except for the corner of her mouth curling up, making her look almost… self-satisfied? Miles tore his wandering thoughts away, trying to focus on the matter at hand. “If you would accompany me back to the precinct, Ma’am?”

“Certainly,” she said, stepping back and sweeping her hand in a wide arc. “Please, come in. I’ll be just a moment.”

“That’s not necessary-” Miles hastened to reassure, but Pattillo just gave him an arch look.

“Well, I can’t very well walk down to the station in just my bathrobe. Please Detective, I insist.”

Miles blushed, quickly averting his eyes. “O-of course.”

Entering the penthouse was many a cop’s wet dream, hoping to find that one bit of evidence to take down Los Santos’ most notorious kingpin. But considering the circumstances, Miles just felt uncomfortable as he followed the recently widowed Pattillo down the hallway into some sort of living room. For all that this penthouse was supposed to be the heart of a criminal empire, it looked disarmingly normal. Two white couches, one facing a giant TV, the other the huge panorama window. Several consoles and games cluttered the shelves under the TV screen, with two controllers and half-full wine glasses on the mahogany couch table. Miles tried not to let his gaze linger on any one detail for too long, not wanting to be caught staring.

“Jack? Who was it?” a deep voice called, and Miles whirled around to find… a half-naked man standing by the bar, carrying a bowl of popcorn and a bottle of wine. Miles stared, eyes drifting down the naked chest and defined abs only to abruptly stop at the black silk boxers. He tore his gaze up, meeting stark blue eyes watching him reservedly.

The man seemed vaguely familiar, Miles thought, trying hard not to blush.

“Detective Luna is here to escort me down to the precinct,” Pattillo explained, walking up to the man. Her hand splayed over his chest and she played with the hair there. “Geoff went and managed to off himself, they need me to identify the body.”

“What a shame,” the man drawled, putting the bowl and bottle down before wrapping an arm around her waist. Pattillo suppressed a giggle, looking up at him coyly from under her lashes. The man grinned. “I guess I’ll take a shower while I wait for you, darling.”

“I shouldn’t be too long.” Pattillo leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Why don’t you draw a bath in the jacuzzi?”

“Alright, darlin’,” the man hummed agreeably, squeezing her hip. Then he let go, giving Miles a nod. “Detective.”

Miles nodded back mutely. The man passed him, sauntering off deeper into the penthouse, but Miles caught a glimpse of a scar on his shoulder that rather looked like a bullet wound. That’s when it finally clicked. Miles stared after Haywood, a model whose shoot ended in him being shot last year, it was all over the news. His back was heavily scarred, too, a reminder of a youth spent involved in gang activity, if he recalled correctly. There was a documentary, about how he went from misguided youth to rising star of a corrupt city, and how that past still haunted him as evidenced by the shooting.

Apparently, late night TV had missed that his current occupation included being the Kingpin’s wife’s lover.

So had the LSPD. And Ramsey.

Pattillo was cheating on her late husband and hadn’t even bothered to hide it when someone came knocking. As if she knew he wasn’t coming back. She hadn’t seemed very shocked at the news. Or sad.

Of course, grief expressed itself differently in each person, but…

_Was it really an accident?_

Miles sat down heavily on the couch as he waited for Pattillo to return. There were the bottles of alcohol, shards of which survived the impact to prove their existence. It all pointed towards an accident, that the gas tank leaked upon the impact, that the car caught fire naturally but… it was all rather convenient, wasn’t it?

He recalled the bruise and wasn’t sure what to think. Had Pattillo set her husband up? To take over his empire or to be free of him? Had Ramsey found out about her affair?

Miles resolved to keep an eye on the case. Ask forensics if there were any signs of tampering with the engine- make sure they actually went to the trouble to _check_. Just because the victim was the alleged kingpin of the city didn’t mean they could just forget about proper procedure and be happy he died. They couldn’t just wash their hands of it, but Miles was aware that the police force was corrupt, too. So he would insist, until the case was solved.

“Well, then, Detective. Shall we?”

Pattillo stood in the door, watching him. She’d dressed up for the occasion - pearl earrings and opera gloves clutching a designer purse, long black dress with a high slit on one side and black high heels that’d look simple if not for the row of tiny diamonds. Her makeup was tame in comparison and properly somber, and she’d added a tiny hat with a black veil to her perfectly coiffed hair. She looked like a movie diva at a funeral, an impression Miles couldn’t quite shake.

“Ah, uh, yes. If you’d follow me, Ma’am.”

The ride down the elevator was silent, with Miles sneaking glances at Pattillo every now and then. She looked well composed, a slight smile to her lips. Nothing but the black clothing hinting at the mourning, and even that came across more as elegance than grief.

The ride to the precinct was similarly awkward, but Miles didn’t know how to break the silence.

“We’re here,” he said abruptly as he pulled into a parking space just outside the morgue. Then, he hesitated. “Are you sure you’re ready to…”

“Positive,” Pattillo assured him solemnly. “It wouldn’t do not to be certain, now, would it?”

“Guess not,” Miles mumbled and led her into the building.

The technician ordered to help them glared at Pattillo the entire time, except when he gleefully pulled back the sheet. Miles winced. It wasn’t a pretty sight, most of the corpse burnt beyond recognition. There was a hint of a mustache, though, as well as a molten wedding band on his ring finger. Miles could make out some of the tattoos, too.

Pattillo eyed the corpse silently, before reaching out and tracing one of the tattooed designs in the air. Abruptly, she dropped her hand and turned to Miles, jaw clenched.

“It’s him.” She shot the body another cold look, eyes catching on the tattoo she’d traced. “I don’t know how often I tried to convince him to get rid of that tattoo, but he always ignored me. Got it when he married his first wife, see.”

She turned her face away, and Miles subtly indicated for the technician to put the body away, allowing her a moment to compose herself.

“Ma’am? Do you need a ride home?” Miles asked carefully, and Pattillo took a shaky breath.

“No, no. I think I’d rather take a cab, if that’s alright.” She swallowed and turned to Miles with a strained smile. “Don’t you need my statement?”

“Do you have a witness for your whereabouts last night?” Miles asked bluntly, and Pattillo’s smile wobbled.

“You’ve met him earlier. We were- at the restaurant overlooking Mount Chilliad. El Casa. The staff there can confirm we left around 10pm.” Her lips thinned as she pressed them together. “We spent the rest of the night together. Geoff was supposed to be on a business deal, staying at a hotel overnight.”

“Alright,” Miles said slowly, noting the information down on his phone. He couldn’t recall what time the accident happened, but he was certain her alibi would hold. Especially if she was actually behind it. He wondered… everyone always assumed that Ramsey had leashed the Vagabond, that he’d only listen to him. Would he kill his own boss for said boss’ wife? How involved was Pattillo?

She looked pale in the morgue’s harsh light. Pale and tired. He remembered the bruise, wondered if there were more. Wondered if it mattered.

“That’s everything for now. You can come down to the precinct in a couple of days,” Miles offered impulsively. It’d give him enough time to check her alibi and get clearer details from forensics.

“Thank you, Detective.” Her smile was small but grateful. “Would Wednesday work for you?”

“Ah. Yes, of course,” he replied, caught of guard. Who made an appointment to be interrogated by the police? But… he supposed it was just a statement, unless he could find proof of her involvement.

Pattillo nodded gracefully, clutching her purse to her stomach.

“Excellent. Good day to you, Detective.”

“And to you,” Miles stuttered, staring after her as she walked away. Something didn’t quite add up, even though it all appeared very neat on the surface.

He wasn’t quite sure what to think.

 

* * *

 

Jack returned home to a quiet penthouse. Slipping out of her society heels, she patted through the dark rooms, heading straight for the bath. Unbuttoning her blouse and zipping her skirt open in the hallway, leaving a trail of clothes behind.

Muffled voices echoed from behind the door, with the occasional splash of water. Jack smiled, slipping through the door into the humid bath.

Ryan and Geoff looked up from the jacuzzi, where they cuddled in one corner.

“Should you really still be here?” Jack questioned bemusedly. “They’ll be watching the penthouse closely, hoping the crew will destroy itself with infighting.”

“Eh,” Geoff waved her off, lifting his arm in clear invitation. “I’ll sneak out later.”

“Whatever you say, Geoffrey,” Jack laughed, slipping out of her lingerie, well aware of all eyes on her before she slid into the hot water.

“So what’s the verdict?” Geoff asked as she settled under his arm. His eyes were glinting mischievously. “Am I a free man?”

Jack snorted. “A free asshole, more like.” At his pleading puppy dog look, she rolled her eyes. “Yes, Geoff. It worked.”

“I can’t believe you faked your death just to take a sabbatical,” Ryan added, shaking his head. “And you call my methods overkill.”

“I needed a break!” Geoff protested, leaning away from Ryan to look at him. “All these shenanigans are giving me grey hairs!”

“I bet you ten grand that you’re back after two weeks,” Jack prophesied, and Geoff squawked. “You’ll be bored out of your mind without us, admit it.”

“No way! Lindsay can deal with your harebrained schemes, and I’ll kick back and laugh at you when you fail.”

“She’s already passed the mantle on to Trevor,” Ryan pointed out ruthlessly, and Geoff stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“ _What?!”_ he squawked, scrambling out of the tub. “Excuse me, I need to make a call!”

Jack and Ryan looked at each other and burst out laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> Will Geoff ever catch a break, even now that he's dead? Ehh, probably not. Let's face it, he'd miss it :D
> 
> Liked it? Please let me know! And if you find any typos feel free to point them out <3


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